That's That
by Ron4
Summary: Fluff. I usually don't write this fluffily, but I had to write this. Summer knows more about Seth than he thought. Standalone.


That's That 

            Seth thinks that maybe he should finally just say something to Summer.  He's loved her for years, yet she hardly notices that he exists.  Maybe it's not love.  Doesn't love have to involve two people?  Well, not necessarily.  He loved his pet frog in second grade, but who knows if frogs can feel love, right?  It doesn't matter.  Summer's not a frog.

            Nonetheless, he can't handle the way she treats him anymore.  Like he doesn't exist.  Or when she does acknowledge his existence, it's often just to use him (like the time at his grandfather's party).  Then again, she did kiss him that night.

            But Seth knows that this is what he has to do.  He can't let her walk all over him for the rest of his life.  Use him, and then kiss him to try to make him forgive her.  Which, of course, works with Seth.

            Before he can second-guess himself, Seth starts walking towards Summer's house.  It's not exactly the closest residence to his, but he needs time to think about what he'll say.  And the fresh air will be a plus.  Help clear his head and whatnot.  The air works, but the whole thinking it out first isn't a good thing.  It just makes him more nervous.  But he's there at her front door, and there's no turning back now.

            Yes there is.  Just _go_, Seth.  Just skedaddle back to your house, play some videogames with Ryan.  But it's too late.  Just Seth's luck.  Summer's opening the door.

            "Seth?" she asks, a surprised smile on her face.  "What are you doing here?"

            "I, uh…"

            "Do you want to come in?"

            It's too late now, Seth.  You have to go in.  "Sure…"

            She steps aside to let him in, and shuts the door behind him.  He hears arguing from a nearby room.  He realizes that Summer's father and stepmother must be home, which he knows is a rarity.  "Let's go up to my room," she suggests.

            Her room?  Seth, you're going to be in _Summer's room_.  Of course, Summer just felt uncomfortable having Seth hear her parents fighting, but that doesn't even cross his mind.  He was just invited into Summer's room.  That little sentence cleared his mind better than the air on his way over.

             He follows her upstairs, licking his lips to free them from the stickiness of nervousness.  Once there, she shuts the door.  If possible, Seth's mind clears even more.

            "So what's up?" she asks, plopping down on her bed.

            "Summer, I…." he can't say it.  He's too nervous.  She'll kill him.  Or worse, she won't ever talk to him again.

            "Spit it out," she laughs, patting the spot next to her.  She wants him to _sit on her bed_.  As if coming into her room wasn't Heaven on Earth enough.  He cautiously does so.

            He exhales heavily.  "I think that I need to get over you.  I've loved you for years, yet you hardly notice that I exist."  That sounded so lame.

            The grin drops from her face.  She acts as if she's about to say something, but then stops herself.  She looks away.

            "I mean, I know everything about you.  The squirrel and the poem aren't the only things, Summer.  And I'm not a stalker.  It's just that I've been like a secret admirer, just without trying to hide it."

            Again, she says nothing.  This makes it harder.

            "It's kind of sad that I know what you've been every Halloween, yet you know nothing about me."

            "Do you want me to know what you've been every Halloween?"

            "No, but it would be nice if you knew something about—"

            "You didn't dress up eighth, ninth, or tenth grade.  In seventh grade you were Wolverine, in sixth you were Batman, fifth you were Superman, fourth you were a Power Ranger, third you were a Ninja Turtle, second Robin, first Spiderman, and in kindergarten you were the Hulk."

            This surprises Seth.  "How… how did you know that?"

            She just looks at him.

            "Summer?"

            "I know more about you than you think."

            "Oh?" he manages to choke out.  "Such… such as?"

            "What do you want to know?"

            "I don't know… what do you know?"

            "I don't know."

            Whoa, come on Seth… it's gettin' awkward.  "My favorite color?"

             "Red."

             "Well…." he says.  "Anyone could know that.  Tell me something that you know about me that most people wouldn't."

             "Your poem in third grade," she grins.

            Oh, he hopes she's kidding.  Her mermaid poem was like Shakespeare compared to his poem.  "Um… really?"

             "'My Favorite Season,' by Seth Cohen," she says.

             "Yeah, that's it.  So, uh, what else?"

             "No, I have to finish, silly," Summer taunts.  "'Spring is nice and that's a good reason, but spring is not my favorite season.'"

             "Please stop," Seth pleads, covering his face with his hands.

            Summer persists.  "'Fall has piles of leaves to jump with your knees in, but fall is not my favorite season.  Winter is before my favorite so it's teasin', but winter is not my favorite season.'"

             "Okay, okay, that's enough."

             "'Summer is my favorite season—'"

             "Summer…."

             "'—because it's the one that she's in.'"

            Seth grimaces.  Good grief, why did she have to remember that?  Wait.  She remembered that.  _How _did she remember that?  "How did you remember that?"

             "How did you remember my poem?" Summer counters.

             "You know how I remember yours.  But you're not in love with me."

             "I've never been in love, Seth," she tells him.

             "But why do you remember my poem?"

             "I think I'd remember a poem that was written about me."

             "Who says it was about you?"

             "Seth, even as a third grader I could figure that out."

             "But you didn't even know I existed."

             "That's not true."

             "Well you sure fooled me."

             "Seth, it's not like I hated you.  I actually thought you were pretty cute.  And it flattered me that you liked me so much."

             "What?"

             "I've never had anyone care about me as much as you do.  Even though I seem to never give you the time of day, you keep on."

             "You _don't _give me the time of day.  No 'seem' about it."

            "About that…."

            "No need to explain.  I get it.  I turned weird.  Didn't make it into the 'in' crowd like you did.  It would never work," he replies bitterly.

            "That's true…."

            He jumps up.  "I can't believe you're just going to sit there and admit that."

            She stands up as well.  "Would you rather have me lie?  I'm a spoiled Newport Beach brat, Seth.  All of us in the… 'in crowd'… are.  But that doesn't matter now.  I'm sick of that life.  I think we could have something."

            He lets out a sardonic laugh.  "Oh, and why is that?"

            "Look at how it's falling apart, Seth.  Luke, Holly.  The rest of the guys are all Luke's chums, and the rest of the girls are better friends with Holly than they ever were with me or Marissa."

            "So now it's okay to be with me?"

            "No.  I mean yes.  I mean… ugh!" Summer complains, stomping her foot.  "It was never okay for me to ignore you.  But I'm admitting that I was wrong.  If you know me as well as you say you do, you'd realize that this is something that I'm usually not comfortable doing, and therefore it's genuine."

            "Why should I change my mind now?"

            "Because…." Summer needs to think of something.  _Fast._  "Because of this."  She leans up and kisses him.  It's as simple as that.  It's such a TV-movie moment.  Such a corny reason to kiss.  Like in those stories you read where it's supposed to be all romantic, but what happens is the girl just kisses him for no reason, and two seconds later they're in bed together, and that's love.  But this feels right.  It's only the second time she's ever kissed the guy, and she knows that there's something more there.

            She pulls away, nervous of what he'll do.  She's almost positive that he'll turn around and stomp out of the room without another word.  But he doesn't.

            "I hope I don't regret this, but… I forgive you," he tells her.

            And that's that.

**-end-**


End file.
